


farouche

by Ibbyliv



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Established Relationship, Flustered Enjolras, Formalwear, M/M, Making Out, boys in suits
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-03
Updated: 2014-03-03
Packaged: 2018-01-14 10:55:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1263667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ibbyliv/pseuds/Ibbyliv
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras swallows again because this really shouldn’t be happening that way, he and Grantaire are in a relationship for God’s sake, he sees him every morning waking up with pillow marks and scratching his beard for approximately ten years before he finally cracks an eyelid open and croaks “coffee” or simply wraps his arms around him like tentacles and refuses to let him get off the bed. As for Grantaire, he even knows about his nipple piercing, one of the most intense moments of Enjolras’ rebellious teenage phase (that, according to his boyfriend, never quite finished). </p><p>Damn it, he shouldn’t be so fucking flustered, they already know every single detail about each other. Or so he thought.</p><p>Until he saw Grantaire in a suit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	farouche

**Author's Note:**

> based on a tumblr gif prompt by defractum

Enjolras swallows and he wonders if swallowing has always been that difficult and he just happened to notice.

Enjolras swallows again because this really shouldn’t be happening that way, he and Grantaire are in a relationship for God’s sake, he sees him every morning waking up with pillow marks and scratching his beard for approximately ten years before he finally cracks an eyelid open and croaks “coffee” or simply wraps his arms around him like tentacles and refuses to let him get off the bed. He’s seen him in his most gorgeous attires before (he finds them gorgeous and that’s more than enough), in those enormous flannel shirts and baggy jeans and khakis in which the both of them can fit, he’s fallen [in love](http://lepoeteimaginaire.tumblr.com/post/78443141101/defractum-submitted-e-r-if-you-can-but-any#) again and again and never stopped falling, with the shade of his figure showering behind the bath curtain, with the way he hums around the kitchen in nothing but an apron, with the colors of the tattoos on his back. As for Grantaire, he even knows about his nipple piercing, one of the most intense moments of Enjolras’ rebellious teenage phase (that, according to his boyfriend, never quite finished). Damn it, he shouldn’t be so fucking  _flustered_ , they already know every single detail about each other _._

Or so he thought.

Until he saw Grantaire in a suit.

And this is utterly ridiculous because he knew those suits were a bad idea from the very beginning. Courfeyrac pointed out to him that it was Marius and Cosette’s _wedding_ and they couldn’t really show up in their hoodies especially when Marius himself was always a bit overdressed so he literally dragged him suit shopping. Enjolras gave a long speech about the social symbolism of suits and ties and reluctantly allowed Courfeyrac to pick the color and [help](http://lepoeteimaginaire.tumblr.com/post/78443141101/defractum-submitted-e-r-if-you-can-but-any#) with his measurements. He hadn’t shot his outfit a second look as he put it on.

Looking at Grantaire, however, as he got out of the bathroom smelling of steamy shower and cologne, that’s an entirely different story because Grantaire has shaven and has even done an effort to tame his wild curls back from his face and they have that sort of sea freshness on their look? Oh yes and then there’s the crisp white shirt that does not hang awkwardly on his bones like it does on his own thin figure, but stretches against the muscles of his chest just enough to leave little in fantasy and to make Enjolras’ suit pants really  _very_ uncomfortable. It’s buttoned up to the last button, leaving just a peek of his neck in sight, and it looks so smooth that Enjolras just wants to bury his face there and make screeching distressed noises forever. The black blazer is so well fitted and the pants,  _Jesus fuck the pants,_ they’re going to a fucking wedding what reason is there for his boyfriend’s pants to be so tight, honestly what purpose do they serve?

And then there’s the tie. That emerald tie that brings out his blue eyes so much and Enjolras wants to wrap his fingers around it and maybe use it in various different ways and the silk, oh the  _silk_ looks so soft…

“Ready to go?” mutters Grantaire hoarsely, his smile unusually shy. “Jehan will eat us raw if we get there late.”

Enjolras opens his mouth to reply but only a croaking sound comes out and he shuts it immediately, feeling his lips entirely too dry and his stomach doing weird things

“Um,” Grantaire raises an eyebrow uncertainly, “has enjolras.exe crushed?”

Enjolras finally manages to clear his throat and shake his blond head furiously, readjusting his own red silk tie. “Uh no. No, I’m ready to go. It’s just…”

“Yes?” Grantaire says helpfully.

“You look…” he clears his throat again, “you look great.”

Grantaire can’t [help](http://lepoeteimaginaire.tumblr.com/post/78443141101/defractum-submitted-e-r-if-you-can-but-any#) a smile back, yet there is a hint of sarcasm in his voice. “I think both our suits were pretentious as fuck.” Grantaire has already walked to the door, fumbling in the pockets of his coat for the keys, while Enjolras keeps standing in the middle of the room, trying to contain the thrumming in his chest. The dark haired man raises his head to his direction. “Listen, I know matrimony is not really your thing and that marriage is an  _institution depassée_  but this is Marius our beloved squirrel boob and Cosette the Disney princess of sass and fashion which means we really have to go, okay?”

“I’m coming,” Enjolras nods curtly feeling unexpectedly collected because he can really handle this so he straightens his jacket again and crosses the room with a firm stride, standing there just for a minute-

And then he’s somehow shoved Grantaire against the wall, muffling his shocked gasp with crashing his lips with his own, kissing him greedily as if he wants to take all of him in a breath, his hands wandering all over his body, over the creases of his shirt, fumbling with the knot of the tie and groaning furiously against his lips because he really can’t do (or undo) ties. Grantaire is breathless beneath him, a hand desperately trying to get hold of Enjolras’ jacket, kissing him back while shoving his other hand in the backpocket of his trousers, pulling him closer and pressing their bodies together. The sound he makes as they make a few almost drunken steps back to fall on the couch is debauched (maybe because fingers are carded through his hair and really how do people deal with ties this is impossible and those sleeve buttons are so frustrating) but as much as he loves Cosette and Marius, Enjolras is lying between his hips, his chest rising and falling almost in desperation and he really can’t deal with this, he can’t…

“You’ll be the death of me,” Grantaire growls, shaky fingers struggling with those pretentious crappy buttons. Apparently Enjolras has found better ways to tame his impatience as he doesn’t bother with the buttons anymore, throwing his cool hands under the waistband of Grantaire’s trousers and next thing Grantaire knows the room is spinning. “Fuckfuck _fuck,_ ” he moans, throwing his head back. “Oh God,  _Enjolras_ we…”

Enjolras raises his eyes to stare at him behind thick, fair eyelashes and Grantaire knows he couldn’t be anymore blessed than to be the one to see that look in the pure, youthful face of the leader. “Shut up,” the man whispers before closing his fist around the soft silk of his tie and pulling him to press their aching lips together in a hungry kiss.

*

Jehan is waiting outside, looking positively menacing in his murderous stilettos. “We’ve all been waiting for you,” he hisses. “Even Bahorel showed up on time, with a black eye but no matters.” He straightens Enjolras’ tie and shoves a flower on Grantaire’s collar, nodding approvingly at the sight before him before turning around to get inside. “What took you so long?”

“We had a problem with, uh, my suit,” Grantaire rushes to reply, exchanging a brief look with Enjolras.

Jehan’s eyes fall on Grantaire, scrutinizing his appearance for a tiny moment that feels like sixty years, and then he waves his hand in the air dismissively, looking at Enjolras with an almost bored expression. “The next time you decide to tie him on the bed at least iron the tie afterwards.”

Grantaire turns to look at a painfully red Enjolras apologetically before clasping his hand and leaning closer to whisper in his ear. “We’ll keep that tip in mind for tonight.”


End file.
